


Aftershocks

by tj_teejay



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Cancer, Depression, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-23 10:20:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17078492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tj_teejay/pseuds/tj_teejay
Summary: Matt is back from the dead, Nelson & Murdock are back in business, and everything should be back to normal. But it’s not, because Matt has missed quite a lot, and things aren’t exactly the way they were before. (Post season 3)





	Aftershocks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Katbelle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katbelle/gifts).



> Dd Bingo (Round 2) Prompt: Nelson & Murdock & Page  
> Daredevil Secret Santa Exchange Prompt:  
> Matt is back. Which is all fine and good. Nelson and Murdock (and Page) are back in business and Matt is ready to pick up where he left off - or perhaps even earlier, before the Castle fiasco, back when they were all happy. It turns out to be more difficult than he expected as life went on for Foggy and Karen and now that Fisk is away again, all the anger those two have buried comes right back up (and, even post-s3, they are still not thrilled with his daredevilling). Karen's over him and apparently dating Frank Castle (who's also less dead than people thought). Foggy and Marci are Very Serious, and there's talk of getting married? It turns out that his friends don't really have time for him outside of their brand new office. 
> 
> Post-s3, Matt learns of all the things that he wasn't a part of while he was dead. The friendships are not as tight and easy as before, and there is a lot of things that Foggy and Karen now share without him. Lots of sadness on Matt's part and realization that he missed out. BONUS if it turns out that - like in comics - Foggy was diagnosed with cancer. Karen is the only person who knows, he hasn't even told Marci yet and he sure as hell isn't telling Matt right now. Matt being alive is great, but he has to earn back the trust and affection of his friends.
> 
> I really, really want to be emotionally DESTROYED by Matt's sadness and depression over not fitting in anymore and his sense of isolation and loneliness (because it's clear to him that it's no longer Nelson and Murdock with Page, but Nelson and Page with Murdock tagging along). Happy ending eventually preferable, but I don't care if or how (if yes) it'll be achieved.

Matt knows he must be pretty desperate, when his version of a “friendly face” turns out to be Maggie Murdock. Maggie—all gruff quips and cool demeanor, and yet home to a big heart and endless patience.

By now, he knows her routine, knows when he can find her in the church or the convent or the yard. She prays quietly in the front of the empty church today, and Matt lingers for a moment before he opens the large wooden doors.

She knows better than to let her prayers be interrupted, so Matt silently walks closer and sits down in one of the pews. A few minutes pass, and he isn’t sure what has prompted her to take a look at the visitor. He likes to think they’ve developed some kind of unspoken bond, but perhaps it’s just her curiosity that got the better of her.

Her footsteps are light on the tiled floor. She slips into the pew next to him, leaving a distance between them that is just shy of familiar.

“Matthew,” she says in that voice that hovers somewhere between genuine interest and terse anticipation, like she half expects him to lift up his shirt and expose a freely bleeding bullet wound.

“Maggie,” he greets her back. He can’t quite bring himself to call her ‘Mom’, or any iteration of it.

“I’d like to say I know you well enough by now to hope that this is not another medical emergency.”

He can’t help but let his mouth curve into a cynical grin. “No, not this time.”

“A social call, then?”

“Something like that.”

“And here I thought that social calls weren’t quite your thing.”

“Maybe they aren’t…”

He can tell she nods just slightly, perhaps wishing just as much as he himself that they could stop dancing around the subject.

“Something is troubling you.”

She says it in a way that it isn’t a question. It’s not exactly a stretch. Trouble is his middle name. Where does he even start? “I thought it would be easier.”

She waits patiently for him to elaborate, and he wishes he didn’t have to—that she could just see into his soul and not make him relive all of it. She may be God’s helper, but even he has to admit she’s not a miracle worker, so he adds, “Going back to my old life. It’s not what I imagined.”

She lets out the slightest of breaths, which implies a little bit of a ‘duh’ right there. “What _did_ you imagine it would be?”

He shrugs. “Foggy and I opened our law practice back up. Even Karen came back. The sign still says _Nelson & Murdock_, but it’s really _Nelson, Murdock & Page_ now.”

She finishes the sentence for him. “But it’s not the same.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“The law part? No. We’re good at it, we’re helping people. We’ve got enough paying clients now to keep us afloat. That part is going well.”

“And the part that isn’t…?”

He sighs. “I’m tempted to say everything else.”

She sounds almost amused. “That’s a pretty tall order.” She sobers. “Are your friends shutting you out on purpose?”

“No, I don’t think so. They’re just… busy. Karen’s dating someone, she always seems to be busy with one thing or another. Foggy and Marci are getting married.”

“Loath as you may be to admit it, but life goes on. And it did, even without you.”

“Do you think I was naïve to expect that it would be the way it was before?”

“Before you were buried under a building and let your friends believe you were dead for several months, when you were actually hiding out in a church basement not ten blocks away, feeling sorry for yourself?”

He lets out a dry chuckle. “Yeah, well, when you put it like that…”

“You miss your friends,” she aptly summarizes. “You miss the rapport you had, the connection, the trust.”

“I do,” he admits, letting his head hang low.

“Have you tried seeing it from their angle?”

He’d like to think he’s tried. “I get it. I’ve been a shitty friend.”

Maggie’s voice is getting more assertive now. A little pissed off, maybe. “You’ve been a lot more than that, Matthew. You’ve betrayed them, betrayed their trust in you being a decent human being and a loyal friend. How did you expect they’d feel when they found out you had deliberately decided that you wouldn’t tell them you were alive?”

“I knew they’d be mad. I expected that. But it’s been months. Was I wrong in hoping we could go back to being friends?”

She scoots just a little closer and places a hand on his lower arm. “No, that’s never wrong. And maybe you need to give them more time.”

He presses his lips together and stays silent. He’s been giving them time, and maybe it wouldn’t be so hard if there were signs from Karen and Foggy that there was some kind of goodwill, some kind of convergence, but he just hasn’t been feeling any.

“Foggy has cancer,” he says in a low voice.

Maggie’s hand squeezes his arm ever so slightly. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

His voice is bitter. “He doesn’t want me to know.”

“But you overheard a conversation.”

“Yeah.” Story of his life. Sometimes he wishes he could switch it off. “Not on purpose. It just… happens sometimes. I wasn’t eavesdropping.”

“That’s how you learned about me, isn’t it?”

He nods. “I’m sorry,” he adds.

“No. _I’m_ sorry. It’s not something I ever expected to be revealed. And I know that makes _me_ a shitty person. I wish I had words to explain it to you in a way that it makes sense, but the truth is, I’m not even sure it makes sense to me anymore after all these years. It became an obstacle that seemed unsurmountable. And when God brought you to me and asked me to take care of you, I was afraid it would destroy that.”

He listens raptly, carefully. Maggie is not a person who tends to share her emotional turmoil with anyone, least of all her son.

He lifts his head and angles it in her direction. He knows he can never meet her eyes, but he can try. “I understand. I’ve been in that situation.”

“Did it blow up in your face?”

He forces a small smile. “It did.”

“This is why we don’t trust people.”

“You trust God.”

“Don’t _you_?”

“I’m not sure anymore. What we have, it’s complicated.”

“And if Paul were still here, he’d tell you that there’s no relationship with God that isn’t. It comes with the territory.”

Father Lantom. Another innocent soul falling victim to Fisk’s machinations.

He sits quietly for a long moment, unsure what else to contribute to the conversation. He’s worked himself in deep, how could a nun who’s only barely gotten to know him ever help him get out? The notion suddenly seems ridiculous.

He frees himself from her touch that still lingers on his arm. “Thanks for the company,” he tells her as he gets up.

“Matthew,” she says, her voice sad, but also a little desperate. She wants him to stay.

He doesn’t.

* * *

The way to work in the morning is just another thing that’s become routine again. Get up, put on a suit, navigate the busy streets of daytime Hell’s Kitchen to their new office just a few blocks from his apartment—a clear upgrade from the back office of Nelson’s Meats.

But truth be told, he has a love/hate relationship with his day job these days. It’s nice to be able to fall back in the rhythm, to be distracted, to help people by using the law for something good. It’s also a painful reminder just how much his work/life balance has been kicked out of whack.

Work is work. Foggy and Karen are there, the atmosphere is jovial most days, they have a well-established routine by now. That part is great, it feels familiar. It’s the small things between the lines that are discordant.

Their personal interactions are mostly small talk. The “how are yous” are almost as shallow as those with the supermarket clerk or the clients. Interactions are mostly work-focused. Foggy has stopped asking how he wants his coffee and just brings him a plain latte when he does a coffee run. There haven’t been many of those lately, come to think of it.

He isn’t sure what exactly he expected. Had he been naïve to think that things would eventually go back to how they were before Midland Circle? Was it odd to think Foggy and Karen would cherish their friend being back from the dead? Even just a little bit? He has to bite his lip at the idea that he’s just become an afterthought for them, a colleague who helps out with the workload.

Sure, he’s tried to reconnect. Karen always seems to have something else to do after work. She’s mentioned a creative writing charity for children she helps out with. Matt knows for a fact that she’s dating someone, though he hasn’t made an effort to find out who.

Foggy and Marci aren’t just “a thing” anymore, they’re actually getting married, and Foggy’s mind is elsewhere when he’s not at work. They’ve been out to have a drink exactly once, and Foggy had to leave early. Karen entertained him for a round or two of Billiards, but he could tell that she wasn’t having the kind of fun they used to have.

Matt tries to tell himself not to dwell on it. Maggie also said it’d need time. But would time really fix this? Had he messed it up beyond repair?

Matt tries to avoid that one creaking stair near the top of their floor, folding up his cane as he does so. He can already hear Karen and Foggy talking a few doors down.

Foggy sighs. “I don’t know if I can do this.” He sounds sad, defeated.

“Did they give you any pamphlets or information material?”

“Yeah, they gave me this.” There’s a rustle of paper. “I mean, look at this. PI3K/mTOR Inhibitor in Patients with Relapsed or Refractory Advanced Solid Tumors, or Histio-whatever-the-fuck it is. I can’t even pronounce it. It’s, like, 30 pages long, and I couldn’t even make it past the first three without my brain starting to melt.”

Matt stops cold just shy of their office door, a dry lump in his throat. He can’t _not_ listen. He can’t.

“This sounds like a clinical trial,” Karen says.

“It is.”

“They want you to participate in a trial?”

“They said it’s an option. I don’t know.”

It sounds like Karen is leafing through the information. “Is it an experimental treatment? Is there a chance you’d be getting a placebo?”

Foggy lets out a frustrated breath. “I don’t know. I didn’t understand half of what they were telling me, but apparently I fit the criteria. They asked me to consider it. How come you know so much about this?”

“I wrote an article for the Bulletin a while back about treatment options for rare diseases. Not exactly my area of expertise, but Joe went on emergency leave, and Ellison needed someone to cover the story. It’s quite an interesting field, actually, once you dig a little deeper. Have you told Marci?”

“About the trial?”

“About the cancer.”

“Yeah. She put up a brave face and said we’d get through it, but I know she cried in the bathroom later.”

“I’m sorry, Foggy.”

“Yeah.”

“Hey, let me read through this and see if I can find out some more about this trial, okay?”

“Would you?”

“Totally. Leave it to me.”

“Thanks, Karen. What would I do without you?”

Matt’s brows knit involuntarily. It smarts like a kick to the stomach, because that used to be him. The person Foggy would come with something like this. The person Foggy would confide in, would ask for advice. Matt used to be the smartest person Foggy had ever known—according to Foggy. Now Foggy won’t even tell Matt about his diagnosis. It fucking hurts to have been replaced.

Matt contemplates turning around and calling in sick. It’d be so easy. He’s not sure from where he takes the strength to breathe in deeply and push himself to walk those last few steps to their law office’s door.

If they notice how fake his smile is when he tells them good morning, neither Karen nor Foggy let on. It’s gonna be another day of pleasantries and paperwork, client meetings, and bad coffee. Matt hates it already.

* * *

He goes out at night as Daredevil almost every night, because it’s a welcome distraction from his empty apartment. He’s stopped asking Karen and Foggy whether they want to spend time with him. The one time Foggy actually asked him to meet up for dinner with some of their (i.e. Marci’s) friends, Matt declined. Polite small talk, expensive wine, and suit-and-tie dress code isn’t his idea of a fun night out.

His aching muscles complain most mornings, and recurring bruises earn unhappy reactions and badly concealed disdain from Karen and Foggy. He can’t quite figure it out. He thought they’d come to terms with it, especially Karen had seemed more accepting. Didn’t they realize that this was a part of him, that he can’t just switch it off? Foggy brought him the suit at the police station. That was a clear statement of, “I know that this is who you are, and I’m gonna reluctantly support it.” What had changed since?

Yes, sure, he knows full well he messed up when he didn’t tell Karen and Foggy that he was alive. He’s apologized for it more times than he can count. They said it was fine, but obviously it wasn’t. He knows now he’s missed so much in those months, he’s missed a part of his friends’ lives pass by—and that’s something he can’t get back.

He sees Maggie here and there, mostly for her to tend to his wounds. Sometimes because he misses talking to someone about the things that matter. He tells her what he knows about Foggy’s cancer treatments, which isn’t much. There were a few overheard phone calls about study visit appointments, inquiries about potential side effects that needed to be reported. He knows Foggy goes in for regular treatments.

He tries to ascertain if they’re helping, but the chemicals swirling through Foggy’s body make Matt nauseous to the point of overpowering everything else. He’s come close to upchucking his lunch once after Foggy returned from his chemo treatments at the hospital, putting on a brave face, but Matt being able to tell he was feeling miserable.

He’s suppressed the urge serval times to go over to Foggy’s office and ask him if he’s all right, but Foggy still hasn’t told him he even has cancer, and Matt doesn’t want to let on that he already knows. They’d inevitably fight, and Matt doesn’t have any more energy to fight with the people he loves.

“What if he doesn’t make it?” Matt had asked Maggie once, in a moment of weakness. He wasn’t able to rein in the tears that time.

Her steady hand had covered his. “The we cry and grieve, and hold on to what we’ve left to live for.”

What he’d wanted to say then was, “Without Foggy, I don’t have anything.” He’d stayed quiet, and Maggie had squeezed his hand and let him cry in silence.

* * *

“Siccing your mother on me, that’s a really low blow, Matt!”

Foggy’s voice is accusing and angry as he’s standing in Matt’s office door. Matt feels blindsided. All he can think to respond is a confused, “What?”

“Don’t act all coy on me,” He steps closer to Matt’s desk. “You know damn well what I mean.”

“Foggy, what are you talking about?”

“You wanna tell me you didn’t send your nun mother to corner me, make me feel—I don’t know… sorry for you?”

Matt is completely taken aback. “Maggie talked to you?”

“Yeah,” Foggy’s voice is acerbic. “She did. How long have you known?”

“Known what?”

Foggy lets out a frustrated breath. “I’m so sick of your games, Matt. The fucking cancer.”

Oh. Shit. Matt’s face sinks. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “You didn’t want to tell me, and I didn’t feel like it was my place to pry.”

“And yet, you did it anyway.”

“Not on purpose. Sometimes I just hear things. I can’t always control it. I’m sorry, Foggy.”

“Yeah, this is great. Just awesome.”

Matt gets up from his chair, but Foggy actually takes a step back. It stops Matt dead in his tracks. It feels like a punch to the stomach. “What did Maggie do?” he asks hollowly.

“It seemed innocuous enough at first. You know, a nun going round the Oncology Ward, looking to comfort chemo patients. After all, as far as conversation openers go, ‘You’re Franklin Nelson, aren’t you?’ isn’t that suspicious. Maybe she’s seen my face in the papers, Fisk, and District Attorney, and all. It’s the part where she started mentioning your name that got me suspicious. Took me a while to piece it together. This is Matt Murdock’s mother.

“You gotta hand it to her, she’s really good with the subliminal messages. She almost had me feeling guilty, but then I realized what she was doing, and it’s a really shitty move. Cause if you have something to say to me, why don’t you say it to my fucking face?”

Matt shakes his head in confusion. “Foggy, I don’t understand.”

“Yeah, I bet you don’t.” Foggy turns on his heels. “Tell your mother I’m not interested in future conversations.”

The door slams into the lock behind Foggy.

* * *

“Did you talk to Foggy?” Matt confronts Maggie, unable to hide the anger from his voice.

Her voice is as steely as ever, bouncing off the convent walls. “I did.”

“For Christ’s sake!” he swears, and she wisely doesn’t comment on the curse words. “Why?!”

“Because I felt it was the right thing to do.”

“Well, it wasn’t.”

“What did he tell you?”

Matt steps a few paces away. “That I, and I quote, _‘sicced you on him’_ at the hospital to make him feel sorry for me.”

“It wasn’t quite like that.”

“What was it, then?”

“From what you’ve told me, it sounded like he could use a little gentle encouragement.”

Matt shakes his head incredulously. “You know what, Maggie? I don’t need your help. And I especially don’t need you to meddle with my personal affairs. I don’t know how you came to the conclusion that you needed to go and stalk my friends, but let me tell you that it was _not_ the right thing to do.

“Maybe you’ve seen me grow up some twenty years ago, maybe you’ve spent some time with me recently, but don’t you dare pretend that you know me, or know what is best for me.”

“Matthew, I’m sorry,” she tries, a desperate edge to her voice that he’s not heard from her before. “I didn’t mean to cause trouble for you.”

“Save it,” he cuts her off. He unfolds his cane and turns to go. “I think it’s better if we don’t see each other for a while.”

“Matthew,” she calls after him, but he keeps walking.

* * *

That night, he goes out in the mask and pummels every petty thug he can find roaming the Kitchen. His gloves are bloody by the time he gets home. He doesn’t make an effort to clean up after himself and just drops the costume in a heap on the bathroom floor before he goes to shower and then sleep.

The next morning, he feels entirely unprepared to deal with food, with work, with life. He stays in bed and tries to drown out the world. Noises and voices blur into each other. His phone rings at some point, but he ignores it. It happens again. And again. Matt doesn’t care.

Sensations drift in and out—for hours, probably. He can vaguely tell what time of day it is by the sounds he hears from the city all around him. The next time he wakes up—it must be late evening—he half-heartedly drinks a glass of water and eats a bowl of cereal with milk that’s on the brink of turning sour. The taste barely registers.

He knows he’s supposed to have called in sick, to clean the dishes, to make an effort. It seems impossible. Nothing makes sense, and those things that did have all been taken away. His friends don’t care about him anymore, and need him even less. His mother doesn’t understand him. There’s a dull ache in his knuckles, but the devil inside him has gone quiet.

He lies in his bed with his eyes open for a long time. Morning comes and goes. His phone has stopped ringing a while ago, the battery probably dead. It’s Karen’s voice that rouses him from an uneasy slumber.

“Matt!”

She must be outside the door, because there’s hands hammering against wood.

“Matt, are you in there? I’m coming in.”

He has the absurd idea that she’s going to break down the door, but he hears a key turning in the lock.

“Matt?” she calls again, her voice coming closer. She steps into the living area, then the bedroom door.

“Matt?” Her voice is softer. She must have realized that he’s actually lying in the bed. “Matt, are you okay?”

He isn’t sure how to react. Would she go away if he pretended she wasn’t there?

“Are you sick?”

He doesn’t move.

“Matt? Talk to me.”

Something touches his shoulder, shakes him lightly. Her hand touches his forehead ever so briefly. Her voice is worried now. “Matt, what is going on? You need to say something.”

He stays silent, trying to find words that will make her not worry and go away. “You’re worrying me, I’m calling an ambulance.”

“No,” he says quickly, his voice husky. “I’m not sick.”

“What then? Why are you in bed? Are you injured?”

“No.”

She takes a step back. “We were worried when you didn’t turn up at work for two days. We tried calling. Why didn’t you answer your phone?”

He doesn’t have answers for any of those questions. “Matt?” she probes.

It’s so exhausting. Why wouldn’t she just go away? “Go away.”

Karen is silent for a few, long moments. “Matt, I don’t understand. What is going on with you? This isn’t like you. Why are you like this? Did something happen?”

“Nothing happened.” Well, that isn’t exactly true, is it?

“You’re worrying me. I don’t… I don’t know what do with this.”

“Then don’t. Just leave. I wanna be alone.”

She stands there, unsure. Her heart beats faster. “I don’t know if I can. Not unless you tell me what’s going on.”

He tries to make his voice more assertive. “Nothing’s going on.”

“You know, repeating that doesn’t make it sound any more convincing.”

He finally snaps, his voice cold and harsh. “What do you want from me, Karen? Just leave me the hell alone!”

She shrinks back, her heart now beating rapidly in her chest. He hates the sound.

What makes it worse is that she quickly grabs her purse off of the armchair and rushes out of the apartment without another word.

The front door falls into the lock with a hollow finality that he isn’t prepared for. He sinks back into his pillow, completely spent from not doing anything. He hates himself, doesn’t want to keep living like this, but he doesn’t have the energy to do anything about it, either.

* * *

He isn’t sure what wakes him up, or how long he’s slept. But there are voices that sound familiar, and it puzzles him.

“He’s in there.”

That’s Karen. There’s someone with her.

“Matthew.”

It’s Maggie. He closes his eyes. He wants to cry with frustration. Why can’t they leave him be?

Karen’s voice is hesitant. More insecure than he’s used to from her. “I’m gonna leave you two alone. Here’s my number, please call me if there’s anything I can do to help.”

“Thank you,” Maggie says in a soft voice.

She waits until Karen has closed the door behind her, then she sits on the edge of his bed.

“So we’re back to this, are we? Way to go to yell at your friends. You really have a way with words.”

“Why are you here?” he snarls.

“That’s a good question. Maybe because I can’t help it. Or maybe because I’m a glutton for punishment. It surely isn’t your irresistible charm.”

He lets out a long-suffering breath. He wants her to go away, too, but he already knows she won’t be swayed so easily.

She gets up from the bed, wanders around the apartment a bit. She ambles back into the bedroom, stopping by the window, her back turned to him. “This is a really nice place you have here. Definitely a step up from the church basement.”

He wants to say, ‘Wait until it gets dark and the humongous billboard lights it up like a Christmas tree,’ but he doesn’t have the energy for snark.

She turns around to face him. “You’re determined to make this as hard as you can, aren’t you?”

He rolls onto his side, away from her voice. “Which part of ‘we shouldn’t see each other for a while’ did you not understand?”

“Heaven knows I’ve made many mistakes in my life, and I understand that I made another one when I went to see your friend Franklin. I am sorry, it won’t happen again.”

She waits for a reaction. Does she want forgiveness from him? He doesn’t know that he has any to give.

A few, awkward seconds hang between them, then she goes to the kitchen and opens and closes a few cupboards. There’s running water, the electric kettle being switched on. She’s making tea. Like that would fix anything.

It’s the organic peppermint she’s picked. A safe choice. Neutral ground. She seems to remember that he likes it with a spoon of honey, and it makes his stomach flip with a strange, unfamiliar sensation.

The mattress dips slightly as she sits back down on his bed, her hand finding his upper arm. There’s a blanket between her touch and his skin, but he can still feel the warmth.

“This,” she says, “This runs in our family, and I wish there was a way to spare you from it. But as much as I may wish for it, miracles aren’t quite in my repertoire, so I’m here for the next best thing. Now drink your tea.”

Oddly enough, he suddenly wants to. Her hand squeezes his arm a little bit. “Come on. If you don’t want to do it for yourself, do it for me.”

Something inside him shifts, and he pulls together every ounce of strength he can find to shift into a sitting position. The mug with warm tea appears in his hands, and the warm, sweet, tangy liquid invigorates him in ways he didn’t even think possible.

It’s overwhelming, and he’s not prepared for the tears that well up in his eyes. Maggie just smiles and lays a hand on his thigh, never breaking the connection. “I need you to understand that this is not your fault.”

He leans over to put the mug on the nightstand, but she takes it from him. “But it is,” he tells her.

“Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know how to do this. How to be a friend. Karen and Foggy have finally understood that. I thought… I’ve been alone for so long. I thought I didn’t mind so much…” He trails off there.

“But you do,” she finishes the sentence for him.

He slowly nods. He lightly pats his thigh. “Why do you think I’m here?”

He just shrugs.

“Your friend Karen. Do you think she dragged me right out of the middle of a class because she didn’t care? You have a lot more going for you than you think, Matthew Murdock.”

“I yelled at her.”

“Yes, she told me.”

“She was scared.”

Maggie lets out a small chortle. “I very much doubt that. She doesn’t strike me as the type who scares easily.”

“I yelled at her,” he repeats. “I shouldn’t have.”

“Yes, but mental illness sometimes makes us do irrational things. Things we can’t control. She understands that. And she saw that you needed help she didn’t know how to provide.”

“So she came to get you.”

She shrugs. “Here I am.”

“Would you have done it if I wasn’t your son?”

That question seems to surprise her, but only for a moment. “I’d like to think so, but when Karen came to me with this request, I didn’t have to think twice.”

“Thank you,” he says in a low voice.

“Any time, Matthew. You can reach out to me any time you need help. I’ll always be there. That’s not something I would or could have said twenty years ago, but I can now.”

He dry-swallows against the lump in his throat. This is new, and unfamiliar, and he isn’t quite sure how his mother ended up in his apartment, on his bed, providing the kind of comfort he didn’t even know he needed.

“I, uh… thank you,” he repeats dumbly.

“Bashful is a new look on you,” she says with a smile in her voice, and he can’t help give her the slightest of smiles back.

“Would you like me to leave?”

He doesn’t need to think long about the answer. “No.”

She gets up from the bed. “I’m full of suggestions, but it’s probably too soon to push.”

He lifts his head to follow her voice. “I’m all ears.”

“Let’s start with a shower.”

She goes back into the kitchen and opens his fridge, calling back over to the bedroom, “I’d offer cooking a decent meal, but I’m not sure there’s enough here to work with. I do remember that you were quite fond of fresh produce, so perhaps a grocery run would be in order. I can do that while you shower.”

“Maggie, you don’t have to do that.”

“Oh, I know. And it’s not something I’d be offering if you weren’t my son.”

He takes a deep breath and heaves himself out of bed. He’s been wearing these boxers and t-shirt for days, and they smell it. His scalp itches and his hair feels greasy.

He grabs fresh clothes from the wardrobe and makes a beeline for the bathroom. “A decent meal would be lovely.”

“Then a decent meal it shall be.”

* * *

Matt texts Karen that same afternoon. A simple, ‘Can we talk?’ She responds by suggesting their favorite Indian place that same night. He says yes, even though he knows it’ll be overwhelming after the last two days he’s had.

Their initial greeting is awkward, which he’d expected. They order. The red wine is good here. He needs a little bit of courage, and the distraction isn’t unwelcome either. The noises from the other patrons threaten to overpower his senses, and it takes a deep breath to get a semblance of control.

Once the waiter is gone, he feels Karen’s attention on him and he knows he can’t escape no longer. “I’m sorry,” he starts.

“It’s okay.”

“No. It’s not. But I’m not sure I can explain it.”

“It’s okay, Matt. I understand. I just… didn’t know what to do with it. I’m not— I don’t have any experience with that sort of thing, you know?”

He nods lightly. “Thanks for going to get Maggie. That was a really nice thing to do.”

The wine arrives, and he takes a long sip, relishing the taste on his tongue. Karen seems to do the same, and the awkward silence is back, until Karen breaks it. “Has this… has something like this happened before?”

He starts to open his mouth, but she adds in a low voice, “Please don’t lie to me.”

He wasn’t going to. “Yes,” he quietly admits. “Not often.”

“Does Foggy know?”

Matt shrugs. Maybe. “I don’t know. He’s probably seen some of it in college. We don’t… We never talked about it.”

“Are you seeing someone?”

“‘Seeing?’ You mean—”

“I mean a therapist.”

He hums. “It’s not— I, uh, it’s not that bad.”

“You should think about it. I mean, these days, it’s not— Fuck, I’m just gonna say it. Depression is nothing to be ashamed of, Matt. It can be treated. It’s not something you have to quietly suffer through on your own.”

He lets out a short, sardonic laugh. “And what am I gonna tell them? You know as well as I do that I can’t talk openly about the things I do.”

“So it’s about that? It’s about you not being able to reconcile your two personas?”

“No,” he denies quickly. “It’s not about that.”

“Not this time, maybe. But I’ve seen you struggle. It can’t be easy.”

She’s right. It’s not. “Yeah, well, that comes with the territory. I don’t think it’s supposed to be easy. But it is what it is.”

“So what’s brought this on? Did something happen while you were out in the suit?”

He isn’t sure how much he wants to divulge. But he did promise her that he wouldn’t lie to her again, didn’t he? It seems like an eternity ago now, that they had this conversation. “No. It was just… a combination of things.”

“Foggy’s cancer?”

“Yeah, that too.”

“You’ve known about it for a while, haven’t you?”

He fumbles self-consciously with his hands. “Yeah, I, uh… I wasn’t spying or anything. It’s just hard not to hear certain things when you’ve got… you know?” He points one finger to his ear.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Well, Foggy obviously didn’t want me to know.”

“Which was why I didn’t tell you either. I wanted to, it felt wrong to keep it from you, but Foggy insisted. I’m not sure why. Maybe he didn’t want to worry you, or maybe he’s… I don’t know, I don’t wanna make assumptions. And I’m sorry, maybe I should have told you.”

“It’s okay, you did the right thing. It wasn’t your secret to tell.” He finds it ironic that they’ve been in this exact situation before, only then Foggy was keeping Matt’s secret from Karen. Funny how life worked in mysterious ways.

“That fight you had, what was that about?”

He raises his eyebrows behind his glasses. “I don’t know the whole story. I’ve been, uh… confiding in Maggie a little bit. Something must have given her an impulse to act on. It sounds like maybe she sought out Foggy and talked to him. Which wasn’t the best of ideas, but it wasn’t something I even knew she was doing.”

“Should I ask what it was you were confiding?”

He squirms uncomfortably in his seat. “I, uhm… I don’t know if I want to talk about it”

“Matt, have I done something wrong?”

Damn her directness. “Not wrong, exactly.”

“Then what?”

He scrubs a weary hand down his face, then takes another sip of wine. “It’s been… I don’t know. It’s different now, I guess I wasn’t expecting that.”

“What is different?”

“Everything.”

“If you want me to help you, you’re gonna have to be a little more specific than that.”

“That’s the thing. I don’t know if I want to.”

He studies her reaction closely, and he thinks there may be some resentment. Confusion perhaps as well.

“Karen,” he starts, but then their food arrives before he can say anything else.

They eat in silence for a little while, none of them sure what to say. Between bites of Bhatura, he makes another attempt. “Look, I know that we haven’t really talked about what happened, but it’s not… it’s difficult, you know?”

“I understand, Matt. God knows, I’ve been through some shit in my life, and sometimes the people you trust turn on you. That part, I’m very familiar with.”

“Is that why you came to New York?”

“Yeah.” She doesn’t elaborate, and he doesn’t push. She eats another bite of her curry, then says, “It’s kinda ironic that I traded one problematic family with another. I mean, don’t get me wrong, you and Foggy have been great. But just like you, it’s not exactly what I expected. And maybe that’s just my fate and I need to accept that I’m always gonna be a magnet for troublemakers.”

He lets out a little chuckle. “So I’m a troublemaker now?”

“Aren’t you?”

“I’m not—”

They’re interrupted by Karen’s phone ringing. One of the more generic ringtones. “It’s Marci,” she says before answering.

Matt can’t help but listen. Foggy’s in the hospital. Not to worry, it’s not life-threatening, it looks like it was just a matter of low blood pressure, perhaps a reaction to the cancer meds. They want to keep him overnight for observation, but Marci wanted Karen to know.

She tells Marci that she’ll be right over. Matt tries not to look too sheepish when she hangs up, but Karen still says, “You heard all that, didn’t you?”

“Hard not to,” he concedes.

Karen is already putting on her jacket, fumbling around in her purse. He tells her, “Don’t worry, I’ll get it.”

“Thanks.”

When Matt doesn’t make any attempt to leave, she turns to him. “Are you not coming?”

“I’m not sure Foggy would want me to.”

“Matt, he’s in the hospital. He’ll welcome any visitor, and especially you.”

“Yeah, I’m not so sure about that, after how we left things the last time.”

“That’s your self-doubt speaking, and you know it.”

“I…” he starts, “Karen, I’m not sure I can.”

Hospitals are difficult to stomach at the best of times, and he still feels jittery and raw. Maybe she gets what he’s trying to say, maybe she doesn’t have the patience to argue. “Okay,” she just says.

“Please tell Foggy…” What? A platitude? He’d hate that. “No, sorry, just… maybe don’t say anything. I’d, uh… appreciate it if you’d tell me he how he’s doing.”

“Yeah, well, I still think you should ask him yourself, but I’m going to respect your wishes.”

“Maybe tomorrow.”

“I think he’d like that.”

Matt will sleep on it. Maybe it’ll be enough time to convince himself Karen may be right.

God, he misses Foggy, misses his deadpan jokes, the way he makes him laugh with the simples of things.

“I’ll text you,” Karen says before she leaves.

Matt leaves enough cash on the table to cover their meal before he unfolds his cane and walks out into the cool New York City night.

* * *

Matt isn’t sure how exactly he’s made it to the hospital. When a depressive episode hits him really hard, he can feel the aftershock for days. The foyer itself is overwhelming enough. The noises, the smell, the bustling of people everywhere, most of them sick or injured. There’s blood and urine and ooze and antiseptic. He can hardly tolerate the onslaught.

He takes a deep breath and steels himself. He’s doing this for Foggy. He’ll power through it.

A fake-friendly lady tells him how to get to the right ward, and he has to enlist the help of a nurse there to take him to the door with the right number. He raps on the plastic-veneered door before he enters.

Foggy’s in one of the two beds, and the other is occupied as well, so Matt has to keep the blind pretense up. As soon as Foggy sees him, he seems to perk up, although his, “Matt,” is carefully neutral.

“Foggy,” Matt greets back just as neutrally. He keeps standing awkwardly by the foot of the bed, trying to take in what he can sense. Foggy’s sitting in the hospital bed with the head piece raised. There’s an IV stand next to his bed, but there’s no infusion bag hanging from it. It seems to be the only equipment there. That has to be good news.

“How are you feeling?” Matt asks awkwardly.

“Okay, I guess. I’m hoping they’ll discharge me soon. I don’t think they found anything. You know, other than the cancer.”

“That’s good.”

Foggy gestures at the chair next to his bed. “You wanna sit?”

He might as well. He puts the folded up cane under the chair, and silence ensues. Neither of them knows where to start. Maybe it’s time to eat some humble pie, Matt thinks. “Foggy, I’m sorry. I truly didn’t know that my mother was going to speak to you. It was not something that I asked her to, or something I’d have endorsed.”

“It’s okay,” Foggy says. “Maybe I overreacted a little. I should have given you a chance to explain yourself.”

“You were upset.”

“One thing I gotta say, though. Your mother is a feisty little shit. For a nun.”

Matt can’t help but let out a short laugh. “Not just for a nun.”

“Come to think of it, it’s actually super weird that your mother is a nun. How does that happen? I thought they were, you know… abstinent.”

“It was before she took her vows.”

“Heh. It’s still kinda weird.”

“Can’t argue with that.”

Foggy stays quiet for a moment, then says, “I’m sorry, too. I should have told you. About the cancer. I mean, it was kind of a no-brainer that you’d find out, right?”

“I didn’t do it purpose.”

“I know.”

“What is it that they’re saying about it? Did they give you any prognoses?”

“I’m in this clinical trial now. Did Karen tell you about that?”

“No, but I may have overheard bits and pieces. Again, not on purpose.”

“Yeah, so it’s a new drug they’re testing in Ewing’s sarcoma. There’s a one in four chance that I’m on a placebo, but, well, there’s worse odds than that.”

“So you’re going through chemotherapy?”

“Yeah. First cycle is almost done. They wanna do at least three before there’s a decision on how to proceed further. Apparently they’ve had some really good results with this study drug in combination with chemo in the past, so here’s to hoping.”

It’s been nagging at Matt’s gag reflex the whole time, but now that Foggy is talking about it, Matt can’t help but become acutely aware of all the chemical shit running through Foggy’s body. He tries to push it away, but it’s too much, and oh my God, the stench—

He bolts from the room, muttering an apology, and stumbles into the hallway, a hand firmly clasped over his mouth. He holds on to the railing that’s mounted to the wall, his back hunched. The nurse who’s helped him before is suddenly by his side.

“Sir, do you need help?”

“The bathroom?” he ekes out.

She guides him there, and he is suddenly aware that he doesn’t have his cane with him. It doesn’t matter. He finds a bathroom stall and locks it behind him, bracing himself against the wall with one hand.

Acrid bile comes up and he retches into the toilet bowl a few times before his stomach stops complaining and he can pull himself together. The toilet flushes angrily as he leaves the stall and tries to clean himself up at one of the sinks.

When he gets back to Foggy’s room, he apologizes again, but Foggy isn’t easily fooled these days. “Dude, did you just get sick?”

“Must have been something I ate.”

Foggy lets out a knowing snort. “You and I both know that’s a convenient lie. Please don’t take this the wrong way, and I mean it in the most loveable way when I say: Get outta here, Murdock. You’re as white as a sheet, and I can only imagine the effect this place must have on you. They’re gonna discharge me within the hour anyway. I’ll be fine.”

“No, Foggy, it’s—”

“Fine. Yeah, I know. You can power through anything, right? Doesn’t mean you have to.”

“Is Marci picking you up?”

“No, she has a deposition this morning.”

“Then I’m staying.”

“I was gonna call Karen.”

“Foggy, it’s okay. Really.”

Foggy relents more easily than Matt expected, and Matt sits back down in the chair. Foggy talks about work, Matt evades any topics that could lead to personal questions or uncomfortable conversations. They’re both chickening out—professional lawyers at their best.

It doesn’t take long until a nurse comes in with some paperwork. They go through some medication administration instructions, follow up appointment plan and finally Foggy has to sign the release papers. Everything seems in order.

They put in him in a wheelchair—hospital procedure. Foggy takes it on the chin. When they’re outside, Foggy takes Matt’s elbow as they’re heading for the cab that’s already there. Matt has a feeling it’s not for Matt’s benefit.

“You okay?” he asks.

“‘Okay’ may be overstating it a little,” he just says. “I just wanna go home.”

“That, we can do.”

Matt knows Foggy doesn’t live in Hell’s Kitchen anymore, so the taxi drive takes a while and costs half a fortune, but Foggy doesn’t even blink, pulling out his credit card.

Marci’s apartment is out in Brooklyn. Matt hasn’t been there before. It’s spacious and modern and angular, and he can only imagine it has a great view of the East River and southern Manhattan skyline. He’s not surprised.

Everything in here feels classy. What he has a hard time figuring out is how at home Foggy feels here. The whole place feels like 90% Marci and 10% Foggy, at most. Just another reminder how much he’s missed in the last few months.

Foggy heads straight for the couch, sinking down on it with a heavy sigh. Matt stands by the foot of the sofa a little uneasily. He lifts the small duffle bag that holds Foggy’s overnight gear. “Where do you want me to put this?”

“Just leave it,” Foggy says. He sounds devoid of energy.

Matt places the bag on the floor. He half-turns to the kitchen that is just adjacent. “Is there anything I can do for you? Get you a water, tea, something to eat?”

“Nah, I’m good.”

“Do you, uh… Do you want me to stay?”

“Where were you?” Foggy asks out of the blue.

The question takes Matt by surprise. He stiffens, his voice carefully neutral. “I told you they took me to St. Agnes.”

“No,” Foggy corrects. “I don’t mean that. The last two days, where were you?”

“Oh. I, uh… I wasn’t feeling so great.”

“And it didn’t occur to you to call in sick?”

“No, I…” He shifts uncomfortably on is feet, unsure if Foggy’s watching him or not. “I didn’t think it’d be a big deal.”

“You didn’t think it’d be a _big deal_? Matt, Karen and I were _worried_. You don’t show up at work for two days, you don’t answer any texts or calls. What were we supposed to think? _Especially_ after what happened at Midland Circle!”

“I’m sorry,” is the only thing he can offer. He almost wants to add, ‘I didn’t know you cared.’

“Yeah, well, maybe that’s not good enough. Will you at least tell me what it was? And don’t say stomach flu or something equally obviously fabricated. Was it a concussion? Are you injured?”

“No, it’s nothing like that.”

“Then what?”

“I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Fine, then I’ll just ask Karen. Cause she knows, right?”

“Yes, she knows. Just like she knew about your cancer diagnosis.” Matt is surprised how bitter it sounds, and it seems to sting enough for Foggy to remain silent, so Matt pushes on, “Were you ever going to tell me?”

“Of course I was!”

“When?”

Foggy shrugs. “I don’t know. Soon. I guess I was waiting for the right moment.”

“Why, Foggy? Why didn’t you tell me?”

He sighs. “To be honest, I can’t even really explain it. Things between us were a little weird, and the whole thing… it’s kind of a game-changer, you know?

“You tell people you’ve got cancer, and then suddenly you go from capable lawyer to poor cancer guy. I know you’re not that kind of person, but I just— It was kind of shitty to keep it from you, but I didn’t want you to treat me any differently. I don’t know if that makes any sense.”

Matt takes it in for a long moment, then he says, “It does.”

“Quid pro quo. You still owe me an answer to my question.”

“Foggy…”

“It was one of those days, wasn’t it? I know you hate talking about it, but you don’t have to be ashamed of admitting that you get depressive episodes. Was it that? One of those I-can’t-get-out-of-bed days?”

“Yeah,” he quietly admits.

Foggy turns his full attention to Matt when he says, “You know you can call me when it gets that bad, right? I know things haven’t been exceptionally close-knit between us lately, but I’m here when you need help. Any time.”

It feels like a punch to the gut. “Foggy,” he says, “You’ve got enough on your plate right now. How could I bother you with this, on top of everything you’ve already got going on?”

“Well, yeah, the cancer sucks, and it’s still scary, but we’ve got that figured out as much as we can. I’m getting treatment, I’m doing kind of okay.”

“You just fainted and spent a night in the hospital.”

“Yeah, well, there is that. Speaking of which,” Foggy fumbles with his pants pockets. “Do you know where my phone is? I should text Marci.”

“I think it’s in your jacket. Hold on.”

He retrieves it for Foggy, who first reads, then starts typing something. Matt patiently waits, wishing there’d be a non-asshole way to excuse himself. The longer he stays, the more unwanted lines of questioning are left exposed wide-open.

Foggy puts the phone down on the coffee table in front of him. “Marci’s deposition finished early. She’s already on her way.”

Matt hopes the relief doesn’t show on his face, but since he’s still wearing his glasses, he is fairly confident he’s okay.

Foggy leans back again against the couch pillows and silence ensues. Foggy is the one to break it. “Maybe it isn’t the time to dredge all this up again, but have you at least told the others that you’re alive?”

“The _others_?”

“Yeah, you know, Jess, Danny, Luke…”

Ah. Those. “Yeah,” he confirms. “Or, well, I tried. Wasn’t easy tracking them all down. Did you know Danny left the country?”

“I did not. I imagine Jess was happy to see you.”

Matt grins. “Yeah.”

“Lots of swear words and name-calling, I hope.”

“She called me an asshole, same as you.”

“Well, you _were_.”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t.”

“Did you hear Luke owns Harlem’s Paradise now? He’s become kind of the new sheriff of Harlem.”

“I heard.”

“Don’t you think it’s weird?”

“Not any weirder than me being the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.”

“Yeah. How is that working out for you these days?”

He shrugs. “Okay, I guess. Probably not what you wanted to hear.”

Foggy sighs heavily. “Matt. I get that it’s not a choice for you. I may not be super enthusiastic about your nightly activities, but that doesn’t mean I’m gonna quit being your friend. You get that, right?”

“You brought me the suit. That was a pretty big gesture. I don’t think I ever thanked you for it.”

“Yeah, and it damn near killed you.”

“Foggy, this wasn’t your fault. I would have gone in anyway. The suit probably saved my life.”

“Yeah, rationally I know that. Doesn’t mean I still don’t have nightmares about it.”

Matt frowns. It’s the first time he hears about it. “You have nightmares about it?”

Foggy lets out a heavy breath. “Not as many these days, but occasionally one creeps in. They suck balls every time.”

Matt takes off his glasses and rubs his face. “Foggy, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“It’s okay. It’ll pass. And it’s not like you could have done anything about it. Except maybe not dying. Or half-dying.”

“I could have told you I was alive.”

“Yeah, you could have. But you didn’t, and I was mad about it for a long time, but now I’m just thinking you probably had a reason, and if I’m lucky, one day you’ll choose to tell me about it.”

“I can tell you about it.”

“Let’s do that over a nice glass of wine some other time, I’m not sure I have the energy for it right now.”

That sounds like a good idea. It actually sounds like a _great_ idea. “Yeah, some other time, just you and me.”

“Invite Karen, she deserves an explanation, too.”

She very much does, and Matt knows it. “Deal.”

As if on cue, a key turns in the lock, and the door opens. “Foggy?” she asks.

“Living room,” he calls to her. She barely gives Matt any attention as she sits down next to Foggy. “Are you okay, Foggybear?”

Matt can’t help but smile at the pet name. Foggy is quick to reassure his fiancé. “I’m fine. Little tired, I guess. The hospital bed wasn’t exactly first rate comfort accommodation.”

Marci turns towards Matt. “Matt, thanks for taking Foggy home.”

“My pleasure,” he responds neutrally. “Glad to help.”

“You guys hungry? Should we order something?”

Matt makes a negating gesture. “Thanks, but I should be going.”

He turns to Foggy. “Take it easy for a while, Foggy. Call me if you need anything.”

“I’ll be back in the office tomorrow,” he tells Matt.

“Don’t push yourself. Karen and I will be fine.”

“Look who’s talking.”

“Touché. But I mean it. Take good care of him, Marci. Make sure he stays home.”

“Oh, I will,” she assures Matt, and Matt a hundred percent believes her.

* * *

Foggy stays home for the next three days—Marci’s, Matt’s and Karen’s orders. He seems like his old self when he saunters back into the _Nelson, Murdock & Page_ offices, maybe a little thinner than he used to be, and he has coffee from the place on the corner.

It’s another plain latte, but this time Matt has the guts to tell Foggy he actually prefers a flat white. Foggy vows to keep that in mind for the next time.

It’s three months later that they’re sitting in Matt’s living room, toasting the good news with an expensive bottle of red wine they got from a client. Foggy’s cancer seems to be in remission, and it’s the best news Matt has ever heard.

They’re all a little teary eyed, overjoyed, and just so very thankful. Matt waits a little while for them to get more comfortable, before he shifts in his seat and harrumphs to get Foggy and Karen’s attention.

“I know it’s been a long time coming, but I think I owe you a long-overdue and somewhat sordid story.”

“Oh?” Karen says half-jokingly.

Foggy smiles at him. “You very much do, and it’s kind of amazing that we’re actually doing it over a nice glass of wine.”

Matt smiles back, then sobers as much as he can before taking the plunge. “It’s, uh… Where do I start?”

Foggy suggests, “Maybe with the moment that a whole building collapsed on you.”

“Actually, I think we need to go back a little further than that. What I should really start with is Elektra…”

* * *

FIN.


End file.
